Alfred Proops Sniper Extraordinaire
by Matthew Buckley
Summary: Read this one to the end, but don't look there first!


Alfred Proops, world renown terrorist and sniper extraordinaire, crouched low. He was peering through the scope of his AWP, waiting for his next target. The heat and dust was especially heavy today, his forehead was covered with sweat. His thin, white hair was plastered to his wrinkled brow. His only job was to kill, and today he enjoyed it. Today he was in a particularly bad mood.

"Come on you rotten, CT campers," he muttered under his breath, "get your butts over here so you can meet Uncle Alfred and his rifle." He rattled his dentures in his mouth. The sound always seemed to soothe him.

Alfred didn't like to wait. He had been given the charge to keep any counter-terrorists from sneaking though the tunnel and flanking the main push. It was a lonely job, and it made Alfred ornery. All of this crouching made his calves and thighs hurt. What did these CT punks think; that he had all day just to crouch here in the heat and dust, waiting to score a frag?

"You freaking pig dogs," he said louder, "get the lead out...".

There! He had only seen a flicker, but it was blue, the same hue as the cutesy uniforms the CTs liked to sport; the same rotten CT thugs that were intent on keeping his compatriots from planting the bomb.

"Step into my parlor..." Alfred mumbled to himself. He grinned. It was always so easy; point, squeeze, and dead. A good sniper knew how to wait.

He could hear the roar of guns coming from the main push. First there had been explosions, but now just sporadic gunfire. Soon it would die down as his allies pushed their way to the bomb site.

Quicker than Alfred could react, a flash of blue burst from behind some boxes and sped to the other wall. Alfred shot but knew he had not hit. It was a reactionary shot, the only purpose it had served was to announce his position to the world.

"Son of a..." Alfred sputtered, "Why you little rag doll. Try that again and you will see who is the quicker..."

The figure exploded again from the opposite wall back to the boxes on the other side. This time Alfred didn't even shoot.

"Why you little!" Alfred lowered the gun and shook his fist. It was a pointless gesture but the fury was beginning to build inside of his chest. This wasn't a good thing. Anger only slowed the reflexes.

Alfred peered though the scope again. It took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing.

The audacity! The counter terrorist was peeking around the corner, and he had his mask off. He couldn't be more than 14 years old. A 14 year old! This young whipper snapper had raced across the alley twice and he had missed him both times. This little punk was in diapers when Alfred had retired from the US Postal service and had become an international terror.

Alfred tried to aim but his arms were shaking...

"I'll show you, you little turd pocket." Alfred squeezed and fired.

CRACK! Nothing.

He shot again, even though he could no longer see his target.

CRACK! Nothing.

CRACK Nothing.

Alfred was furious. He stood up, his thin legs creaked and shuddered.

"I'm too old for this," Alfred siad, but didn't believe it.

He quickly reloaded and crouched again in the dust. There was no more gun fire, but Alfred didn't notice. There was no ticking bomb, but Alfred didn't notice. There was a counter terrorist sneaking up on his left flank, but Alfred... didn't notice.

"Ok, little baby," Alfred said out loud, "It's you and me. Come to papa."

The counter terrorist seemed to hear and ran from behind his boxes.

CRACK. Nothing.

Again the CT ran. Again Alfred fired. And again nothing.

But now Alfred was cool. He was focused. He would get his sonnofa goat if it was the last thing he did.

The counter terrorist who went unnoticed on his left flank crept around slowly to his rear.

Run. CRACK. Nothing.

Run. CRACK. Nothing.

The counter terrorist behind Alfred put away his service revolver and pulled out his knife. He inched ever closer.

Alfred reloaded, peered through the scope, and couldn't believe what he was seeing. The boy counter terrorist was no longer facing Alfred. He stood in the middle of the alley, facing the other way. He was bent over and... And his pants were down! This pernicious punk was mooning Alfred Proops, international terror and sniper extraordinaire!

Alfred was frozen. He couldn't fire. He couldn't move. The impertinence of it all! The flat outaudacity...

The CT crept up behind him, knife drawn. Alfred continued to crouch, frozen in fury.

Closer.

Closer.

Alfred was now within the CT's grasp.

In a blinding flash the CT dropped the knife, grabbed Alfred's red underwear which was sticking up out of his camouflage, and yelled. "WEDGIE!"


End file.
